


Cold Galaxy

by Yu4ic



Category: Warframe
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, During Canon, Gen, Outer Space, POV Multiple, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Space Ninjas, Space Pirates, Space Stations, Survival Horror, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yu4ic/pseuds/Yu4ic
Summary: It’s a cold galaxy, dreamers. A galaxy cold enough to snuff you out if you’re not careful enough. Sometimes, the people living in that galaxy are even colder. Tell me, dreamers: who do you trust?
Kudos: 4





	1. Terran Spectre

“Boss, I’m telling you, this looks like Terran Spectre work.” one of the technicians toiled.

“Another word about spectres and I’ll feed you to Zanuka.” Prothma Diax hissed, “Pull up the camera’s last transmission.”

About a dozen technicians and crewman crowded behind Prothma, each craning their necks to see the torso-sized screen. The technician at the computer turned up the volume. On the video replay, the camera panned from one side of the room to the other. In the room, a crewman walked into a blindspot. The side of a locker sprayed dark with a fluid, and a metallic grating rang through the computer speakers. The camera froze in place, then started to pan back. The screen bloomed with intense light exposure. End of feed. 

“Send a MOA unit. Maybe a shield osprey, too. We can’t afford to postpone another delivery.” Prothma turned his attention to a personal tablet. 

His men looked at him, but he gave them nothing. The video didn’t sit right with Prothma at all, but he was telling the truth about needing all hands on deck; Prothma’s reputation wouldn’t survive another delayed ferrite shipment. 

Why would the Terran Spectre be coming here?

It wouldn’t, Prothma rationalized. The Terran Spectre was known for wiping out battle-ready battalions, not busting skeleton crew mining operations.

“Hey, Layef?” Prothma stopped one of the crewman managers.

“Aye, captain?” she answered. 

“When are the prototype ship schematics coming in? Next week?”

“They came in yesterday, sir.”

Prothma searched around the room until he found the desk that he was looking for. He glided over, planted his feet onto the ground, and pushed the crewman aside. 

“The east data room is all clear, Captain.” the crewman glanced nervously as his boss rifled through his post. 

One of the east data room cameras was already down. Prothma expanded the view window for another camera. As it panned, he caught a glimpse of something purple and black moving past a sliver in the hallway. Dark fluid splattered the corner, and a wet thump was heard. Around the corner came a purple and black Ignis flamethrower. The 6-foot tall demon hovered into view. It’s purple and black leathery skin shined bright, unscathed. It pointed the Ignis at the camera. A bright light exposure enveloped the whole screen, and the camera feed cut out. 

Prothma slammed his fist on the panic button. Alarms blared out across the ice cavern walls. Personal tablets lit up and buzzed as location data broadcast the intruder’s last known location. 

Prothma ordered the nearest patrol squads to the east data room, “Survive this, ghost.”

  
  


Min felt his personal tablet buzz. He swore he could hear the alarm going off outside. His pager buzzed rapidly; messages were coming in hot. The alarm code stayed at the top of his screen: Intruder, east data room. The alarms over his head burst with sound soon enough. The next several messages were a mix of warnings to run, orders to stand his ground, and words of encouragement. Min drew his rifle. 

Outside the data center entrance door, the whir of metal motors and thudding footsteps forecasted reinforcements’ approach. Patrol crewman and MOAs burst through the door so hurried that they had nearly shot Min on sight. 

“Where is the Spectre?” the lead technician barked.

“The what?” Min loosened his guard. 

Something dark slid into view from the corner of his eye. He turned to look; the final door to the data vault slid shut. Sparks rained down where the camera once was. Before he could say anything, a wet swipe spilled from the other side of the room. The reinforcements closest to the door turned their weapons at the other hallway and opened fire. Min watched as crewmen, including the one he had just been talking to, fused shut into black husks of char. Moas melted into inoperable puddles and wiring. Ospreys popped. Death was coming, and Min couldn’t stop it. He dashed around to the other side of the server wall and took cover. Grating metal screeched through the room as MOAs cried dying breaths. Another wet slash, followed by a thud. Min waited for footsteps, but none came. Instead, a purple and black figure floated next to him.

  
  


“Can we lock this door?” Prothma pointed at the exit to the control room, “Someone lock the damn door.” 

A set of technicians hobbled over to the door with welding tools in hand. Together, they melted the metal frame, letting the liquid spill into the cracks of the door. They did the same for the opening. The door was fused shut in a matter of seconds. 

“Send all patrols down to the east wing!” Prothma spat. 

A mechanical hiss that lasted several seconds sounded off from outside the control room. Silence overtook the room. At one of the door’s corners, a small hot-red patch began to form. Upon Prothma’s command, his crewmen formed defensive positions around the door. The heated patch began to liquidate. Tufts of flame started spiking through slits in the door. 

Prothma raced towards the door to activate his ability nullifiers in his helmet. On the other side of the door, he heard the mechanical demon clatter to the floor. The helmet of the Slo Comba had served him well. His ears split open at the sound of metal grating on metal; the Terran Spectre had jammed a heat sword through the gash in the sealant. Crewmen fired at the blade as it sawed microns lower and lower down the door. 

Metal screeched as the Terran Spectre pulled the heat blade back to its side of the door. The sound of a void portal opening was audible through the cracks. Prothma didn’t have enough time to warn his men to get away from the door. A blast of void energy bent the corner of the door away from its frame. 

A purple and black hand slithered in through the crack in the paneling. The crewmen fired, but it was too late; the Terran Spectre had cast an ability. 

“Don’t look!” Prothma turned and hunkered to the floor. 

Small, shimmering butterflies fluttered into the room. One of his men shouted, presumably claimed. Prothma’s warning went unheeded, and corpus weapons fired helplessly at the claimed crewman. A metallic scratch followed by a second void blast meant that the Terran Spectre had an opening. Prothma stood to fire his nullifiers once more, which would guarantee his survival for another two and a half seconds. The nullifiers killed the demon’s shrinking capabilities, and the metal-winged beast clanged to the floor in front of him in its full form. It stood with its wings glistening in the cavern light. It raised its fingers its fingers at Prothma.

Prothma lifted into the air, and suddenly he was no longer inside of his body. His body crumpled to the demon’s feat. He had become a spectator to his own life. He watched as the Terran Spectre carved through his crewmen in seconds. When it finished, it scanned the room for survivors. Its head turned towards Prothma’s body, but didn’t glance up at his spectral, out-of-body form. The nullifier effects faded. The Terran Spectre shrunk down small enough to exit using the same hole from which it entered. 

With his soul separated from his body, Prothma would have plenty of time to ponder his delayed ferrite shipment. 


	2. Corpus Camouflaged

Once the last man was off, the condor dropship peeled away from the drop zone. It started to take light arms fire. Ineffective projectiles glanced off its silver hull until the ship warped out of view. 

“CC-091, fall in.” the team captain ordered. 

On CC-091’s heads up display, the line of dots on his radar were the only indication of his teammates. He joined beside them. To his immediate right was CC-154― a crack shot infamous for downing Tenno with Lanka headshots. To the right of CC-154 was CC-009, the team captain. CC-272, who was juggling a single grenade, stood to CC-091’s left. CC-091 looked at where the radar said his teammates were, then at his own arm; none of them were visible to the naked eye. Without the radars, finding each other would have proven near impossible. 

“Objective is five hundred meters out. Stay in position.” ordered the captain. 

The line began to move. Invisible feet left visible footprints. Within minutes, the harsh snow would cover their traces. 

“Ground team,” Nef Anyo’s voice radioed in, “How goes the search?” 

“Less than a kilometer out from objective. No sign of Vox Solaris yet.”

Silence set in. The captain’s dot on the radar paused. 

“Stay vigilant.” Nef finally answered. 

Every several steps, the distance on the waypoint marker would tick down a meter. The number was low enough to make CC-091 raise an eyebrow, but not enough to ease his mind. 

In the distance, a Corpus patrol squad milled their routes. Small packs of snow kicked up around them in a rapid fashion. Tenno were circling in the air above the patrol. CC-272 put his grenade away to aim his Lanka into the sky. 

“Don’t engage!” CC-009 urged.

The trigger-happy one scowled. 

The Tenno dropped out of the sky, each landing blades-first. MOA units were diced like vegetables. A crewman lost his life to a well-placed slug to the head from a high-powered assault rifle. The last to go was a crewman who had his torso separated by a nikana. His reinforcement beacon was cut down just as easily. One by one, the Tenno each leapt into the air, let their archwings materialize behind them, and propulsed towards a singular point in the horizon.

Someday, the betrayers would pay.

The stealthed units pressed onward until they were at the mouth of the cave. There weren’t any tracks leading into the base aside from their own, but that didn’t mean anything. Vox Solaris didn’t make errors that careless. 

The further the team descended into the cave, the less natural the walls became. Manufactured metal plates, though now jagged and misaligned, made up more and more of CC-091’s periphery. After a hop up, a corner turn, and a hop down, the team had at last found the door they were looking for. 

“Wait,” CC-091 stopped the crew from walking inside, “I can check the door logs for the latest entries.”

“Make it quick.” the captain paced.

CC-091 pulled out a datapad from his equipment pack, then connected it to the door’s security panel.

“How many entries?” CC-154 asked.

“Just one.” CC-091 answered with puzzlement. “Tenno, if I were to guess.”

“Could’ve been a virmink.” CC-257 shrugged.

“Be ready for anything.” CC-009 motioned his men towards the doorway.

As one unit, the team pushed into the room. The sound of the door sliding shut echoed in the tight, cavernous hallway. After a corner turn, the tunnel opened up to the vast, man made interior of Deck 12: a ghost town ravaged by deals of the past. 

“Stuff your bags, then we’re out,” CC-009 spoke, “We’re here for a quick hit, not a thorough one.”

CC-091 obliged, but something was off. He set his equipment pack on the floor and stretched his back for the first time since the mission had started. He scanned the floor of the underground city.

“Hey, boss?” CC-091 called out, “If several patrols were lost down here, shouldn’t the bodies still be here?”

Though the others were away stuffing their bags with forgotten relics, CC-091 sensed a communal pause. 

“I would take MOA scraps back home, but I’m not seeing any down here.” CC-091 continued.

CC-009 sighed, “I don’t know. Maybe they all got moved upstairs. Maybe there’s a domestik drone working overtime downhere. Stuff your bags so we can get out of here.” 

CC-091 slung a bag strap over one shoulder and worked his way over to a Solaris elevator. To his surprise, the elevator console still functioned. It carried him to floor two of the several dozen that Deck 12 consisted of. Lockers lay before CC-091, half of which were wide open, the other half closed tight. He pulled out his plasma drill and got to work. Hot energy cut through the locker’s first hinge, then its second. CC-091 took care setting the panel cutout onto the floor without making a sound. In the locker were enough toroids to power a platoon of robotic units. The toroids were of different types, too; whichever Solaris had collected them had a wide range of operations. CC-091 began to cram the toroid cores into his equipment bag. He picked an orange one out of the pile, uncovering a cotton object beneath it. He pushed more of the toroids aside. Beneath them was a child’s floof. A virmink floof. CC-091’s son would love a floof like that, but his bag was already loaded with valuable toroids. He glanced at the bag, then back at the floof. 

  
  


“Find anything good?” CC-091 joined CC-154 at the center of the dilapidated plaza. 

CC-154 didn’t answer. CC-091 checked his radar again, then approached where the map said CC-154 was. 

“Oh.” CC-091 muttered as he bumped into the cloaked CC-154.

Still, CC-154 said nothing. CC-091 did his best to figure out where CC-154 was facing, then traced his vision down to a discarded Corpus helmet. 

How had CC-091 not seen it when he walked in?

“This isn’t one of ours, is it?” CC-091 paced around the helmet. 

“Doesn’t look like a stealth helmet to me.” CC-154 finally spoke, “There’s some weird scratches on its face, though.”

CC-091 reached out to pick it up, but remembered that if he did, the helmet would turn as invisible as the plasma drill in his free hand. He repositioned around the helmet instead and crouched to the floor to get a better look.

“These are Orokin letters.” CC-091 holstered his drill and pulled out his datapad. 

He studied the letters etched into the metal mask, then typed them into his now invisible datapad using muscle memory. He set the tablet onto the floor to let it reappear. 

“S and U.” CC-154 read aloud, “Solaris United.”

“Lock it up,” CC-009 approached them, “take it back home if you think it’s worth it. We’re heading out.”

“Where’s CC-257?” CC-091 looked up from his datapad.

“Check your radar.” CC-257 bumped into him. 

Together, four dots on the HUD radar backtracked their way to the narrow tunnels, then back to the main door. They kept walking only for CC-257 to hit his head on the door.

“The hell? Why didn’t it open?” CC-257 pressed a hand against the door. 

“091?” CC-009 inquired.

“On it, sir.” CC-091 pulled out his datapad again. 

CC-091 hunkered to the floor to read the pad: forced lockdown. Either the system was bugged, or someone had used their own system to lock them inside. CC-091 couldn’t override it with the nearby console, either.

A thin  _ whip _ sound ripped through the air and the tightness of the tunnel gave the sound extra echoes. CC-257 let out a bloodcurdling scream. An arrow had gored him right through his stomach and had him pinned to the wall half a meter off the ground. The toroids he had collected emptied to the floor as he writhed in pain. Six other arrows were also stuck into the door. Counting CC-257’s, they made a perfect, straight line. One shot, seven arrows. 

CC-257’s radar dot was the only one blinking red. Seven more arrows appeared in a different line formation, but again only gored CC-257. The second volley cut off his screams. An arrow had stapled his head to the wall. 

CC-154 fired his Lanka, and the shot connected true to legend. The warframe’s stealth field died and the suit buckled backwards to the floor. The Ivara frame lay dead.

“Scatter!” CC-009 shouted.

The dead suit raised into the air and let out a burst of energy. Resurrection. In the instant the live Ivara hit the floor again, she went invisible. Throwing knives hit the wall behind where CC-154 was standing, but he was already gone. CC-009 was already back in Deck 12’s plaza. CC-091 was alone with CC-257, and the Ivara was somewhere between him and his remaining teammates. He would need another console if any of them were going to get out of there. 

Fear fused CC-091 into a deeper hunkered stance. He crawled forward on all fours, then worked up the strength to walk like a proper biped. Would the Ivara be waiting for him if he hugged the wall, or would she be standing in the middle of the walkway making wild slashes? CC-091 guessed the silence meant the former, then walked down the center of the tight tunnel canal. He inched partial steps at a time, waiting for a blade that he couldn’t see to end his life. None came. CC-091 had made it into the plaza. He nearly stepped into a puddle. Though he couldn’t see anyone or anything, CC-091 felt the Ivara gazing in his direction. He pulled a control module out of his backpack. It would turn visible in the moment it left his hand. CC-091 glanced back at where he thought the Ivara was, not that he could know for certain. He angled himself such that his camouflaged back was hopefully blocking her view of his throw, then flung the handheld module into a distant puddle of water. CC-091 heard a drawstring pull, and he crouched to the floor. Seven arrows screamed towards the control module, each hitting nothing but air and puddle. 

From somewhere high above, CC-154 made another Lanka shot. His shot was also nothing but air and puddle. CC-091 used the distraction as an opportunity to dive roll over the row of puddles. CC-154 cried out, and CC-091 heard the Ivara reload her throwing knives; did she just nail a knife throw on a sniper? CC-154’s blinking dot on the radar hobbled to a new location. The warframe bullet jumped, and a gust of air knocked CC-091 to the floor. In the air, the creature was visible. Even without her camouflage abilities, the Ivara’s warframe colors blended perfectly with the Solaris cityscape aesthetic. She wall jumped between buildings and scaled vertical faces, presumably hot on CC-154’s tail. 

CC-091’s active camouflage broke as he slid to a new console, but returned as he slid to a stop. He had his data tablet connected and got to work on the security system protocols. 

A scream from CC-154 started several stories into the sky, but it became apparent that the sound was hurtling towards the floor. The uncloaked soldier splattered the ground like a musty spore sac and his Lanka bounced into a puddle. 

Then, something heavy and invisible hit the ground. Ivara was back on the hunt. CC-091 finished the override, and the main door whirred awake. The light on the door switched from orange to blue. Seven more arrows added to the collection already stuck into the door, then another volley of seven just narrowly missed CC-091 at the console. 

CC-091 crouched. He didn’t care how long waddling would take; he was going to live. CC-009’s dot on the radar was the only other dot remaining. They converged back at the center of the plaza and continued to the main door. 

_ Sploosh _ .

CC-009 had stepped in a puddle. He didn’t have a chance to say anything before a throwing knife punched the side of his helmet. The captain’s body fell to the floor, landing in another puddle. 

CC-091 whipped around and fired a blind hipshot with his Lanka. Somehow, he hit the Ivara in the gut. They stood puddles apart from each other, neither of them cloaked. CC-091 angled the rifle higher, held the trigger down, and ripped out a headshot on the Ivara. It crumpled like CC-009 had seconds earlier, but CC-091 needed to scatter. He turned to run. 

Behind CC-091, the Ivara lifted off of the floor and let out a burst of energy. He peaked over his shoulder, but she was already invisible. The main doors slid open as CC-091 drew near. He took off his bag and threw it past the door frame. With a shoulder dive roll, he managed to dodge a seven-arrow volley and crossed the door’s path. He reached for his datapad, keyed in the right commands, and reactivated the lockdown. The first metallic thud was from the doors sliding shut. The second, third, fourth, onward were from the Ivara pounding on the sealed door. CC-091 was safe until the Ivara found another console. 

Thanks to his haphazard toss, the contents of his equipment pack had spilled across the floor. He repacked the toroids with haste. Control modules went in next to fill the gaps. Last to go in the bag was the virmink floof. 


End file.
